


25:3

by aihodineverlark



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-29 02:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15720315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aihodineverlark/pseuds/aihodineverlark
Summary: What if the baby had been real? In the Quarter Quell, Katniss's odds of survival are already pretty low, with President Snow having painted a huge target on her back. But it doesn't help that, as the Games continue, she begins to suffer from unexplained symptoms. How is she supposed to protect Peeta, let alone herself, with these odds? And what could this mean for the pending rebellion at hand, the plans she doesn't even know are in place?In the arena, twenty five went in... Hopefully, three will come out.(Title said as, "Twenty Five to Three." Originally posted on Tumblr as a reblog under "Imagine if the baby were real?")





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just say... my hand slipped. I started another fic, oops! But this one's all me—well, and a few ideas from my tagging list over on Tumblr. Special shout out to those bloggers, especially @mega-aulover and @alliswell21, for listening to my rambling and being curious about this idea in the first place!
> 
> Feedback is always welcome!

 

**Chapter 1**

“What’s wrong with her?”

Haymitch Abernathy heard the question before he looked at the monitor showing the feeds for his Tributes. It had only been four short hours since the Bloodbath, and many had died, though none from their alliance. Ignoring the plump Capitol man’s stare on the side of his head, Haymitch focused in on what was happening, trying to puzzle why he was asking in the first place.

Katniss had stopped to rest against a tree. Haymitch didn’t think much of it. Everything seemed fine–the rest of her group continued on ahead, with Mags and Finnick in the middle and Peeta bringing up the front, cutting away vines with his knife. Katniss had chosen to take the rear. Haymitch assumed in a few seconds, Katniss would either join them again or call for a time out. She was just catching her breath.

However, she did neither. And what Haymitch saw next confirmed to him that the Capitol man was right: something _was_ wrong.

Just like the rest of her group, Katniss was sweating. But now, as the camera panned to a close up of her face, Haymitch could see how much. She was dripping buckets! It reminded him of how he had felt after she’d dumped the water pitcher over his head at the start of the Victory Tour; though it had been the middle of winter then and he was shivering, his teeth chattering, his clothes and hair had plastered to him until he peeled them off to take a shower. Katniss looked just as uncomfortable now.

But Haymitch knew it wasn’t prevalent hypothermia causing this. It was something else.

“I don’t know,” he said in answer to the Capitol man, who grunted. They both turned their attention back to the feed.

Katniss was panting heavily. She braced her hand against the tree trunk, swaying as though if she let go she might fall. When Haymitch saw how dazed and fluttery her eyes were, he believed it was the truth.

What _was_ wrong with her? He wondered. She looked as though she was about to pass out. And that wasn’t good. Not with all the plans in place.

“Katniss?” Finnick had noticed the absence of her footsteps behind him. He called out to her.

Katniss answered with a dry, “Back here!”

The Capitol man stepped closer to the monitor. “She was tougher than this in her last arena.”

“She’s pregnant,” Haymitch fired back, without thinking or without pause. A lie–a good one, full of opportunity. Haymitch could use this, even if he suspected it wasn’t the real reason Katniss was acting this way. He could see it in her eyes, she was confused, too. She didn’t know what was happening. But the Capitol man had a point.

“How long do you think the baby’ll last in these conditions?” the Capitol man asked. “Mom’s not looking so great.”

“If they don’t get water soon…” Haymitch shrugged. He was still trying to figure that out, too. He didn’t have a lot of enticing information to tell the potential sponsor.

The Capitol man grunted again, and turned to walk away. Haymitch let him. He didn’t need money right now anyway, he needed to know what was going on. He looked back to the monitor.

On the screen, Finnick, Mags, and Peeta crashed back into the spot where Katniss was. When he saw her, Peeta rushed over, wrapping an arm around Katniss’s waist to steady her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned and confused. He rubbed a spot on her back.

Katniss shook her head. “I need to sit down.”

“Okay.” Peeta slid down the tree with her, then directed his next words to Mags and Finnick: “We’re taking a break.”

Finnick’s eyebrows rose, and he spun his trident over his shoulder, giving a glance that said he didn’t agree. But then he looked down at Mags and exchanged a look with her.

“Guess we’re taking a break,” he said. He set Mags up on a log a few feet away while he went to search for water.

Meanwhile, Katniss leaned against Peeta. Her head found his shoulder, and he asked what happened.

“I’ve had a headache all afternoon,” she explained, lifting her head. “I thought it was just the sun getting to me or a thick pocket of humidity, so I stopped to catch my breath. But then I felt really, really warm, and everything went fuzzy, I felt lightheaded, even nauseous for a second, and then… Well, then Finnick called my name and you guys came back. And I feel fine now.”

“It’s probably the heat,” Peeta said. “It’s getting to all of us.” He reached to press the back of his hand to her cheek. “You do feel kind of hot, though.”

Katniss nodded. She let her head fall back on Peeta’s shoulder.

“We need water,” she said, and coughed.

“I know.” He leaned his head on hers for a second, and she smiled slightly. “We all do.” Then he put his hand on her stomach. It was a nice touch.

If Haymitch weren’t so curious about what was really going on, he’d bet the audience was eating this up with silver spoons.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Peeta asked her for the second time since they’d started walking again, holding a handful of vines out of the way. They’d had to keep moving, so the break didn’t last long—just long enough for Katniss to regain her strength enough that she could carry on. As such, Finnick was now taking the lead, with Mags and Katniss in the middle and Peeta at the back. It was working so far.

After considering Peeta’s question, Katniss nodded and said, “I’m sure.” The dizziness and nausea had subsided, though the headache remained, and she felt no warmer than she expected for a Hunger Games set in the middle of a tropical jungle setting. She did feel an itch, though. She scratched at her arm, the one where the tracker went in, hoping that she wouldn’t have to worry about some kind of weird bug-mutt above all else here.

Besides, she had other things to think about. Such as, the  _ why _ of the whole situation.  _ Why _ had she, so suddenly, felt faint against that tree? It wasn’t like her. She was stronger than this. While the ailment played up the baby card for her and Peeta, something she had honestly and regretfully forgotten about since entering the arena, it still worried her, because she didn’t know the cause. She knew Peeta was concerned, too.

She wasn’t pregnant. So, what had happened?

“Peeta?” Consumed by her thoughts, Katniss barely heard Finnick call for her district partner up ahead, but she looked up when he asked, “Can you come here? I need your knife.”

“Yeah.” Peeta touched her arm and said he’d be right back before he moved away. Katniss blinked, before focusing on keeping her bow notched while they walked. Her head was starting to pound again. She thought back to when she was waiting to go through the tube with Cinna, managing to drink water and feeling the first throb in her skull. She had assumed it was stress. Then it was time for her to go into the arena, and she saw Cinna bloodied to a sickening degree before her eyes, and then her only thoughts were of getting to Peeta and staying alive. It wasn’t until later the headache had returned, like it was now.

A tap to her elbow turned Katniss's attention down to Mags, who had slowed to walk beside her. The old woman looked worriedly over her, then tapped her head and mimed a circle with one finger.

_ Are you still dizzy? _ the motion asked.

Katniss smiled and shook her head. “No, Mags, I feel alright now, thanks.” 

Mags nodded and gave a gummy smile. Then she tapped her mouth, and her stomach. She had to be asking about the nausea. Katniss told her she didn't feel any of that anymore, either.

Mags smiled and nodded again. She didn't say anything else.

Katniss stared ahead. Peeta and Finnick were up front, cutting away vines. As she squinted into the distance, she saw the waver. She blinked, unsure if she was seeing right. It could be the heat, but she thought she saw a small patch of undulating sky, so much like the forcefield Beetee pointed out…

“Peeta, no!” she burst out, but it was too late.

There was a zap and a scatter of sparks, and Peeta flew backwards onto the ground, his jumpsuit smoking. Katniss scrambled to where he lay, panic coursing through her. 

“Peeta?” She pushed his hair back, but his eyes didn't open to her voice or her touch. She called his name again. “Peeta, wake up.” 

He didn't move.

“Peeta...” Katniss shook his shoulder. Nothing. Fear began to mount in her. Desperate, she put her hand under his nose, by his mouth, looking for breath. 

She felt none.

“He’s not breathing.” The sentence fell from her mouth in disbelief. Finally she laid her head on his chest, where she always slept during their nights on the train, ready for the steady, assuring heartbeat she was used to hearing each night.

But instead, she found that was absent, too.

_ No _ .

“Peeta?” The panic twisted into fear, which twisted into hysteria. Tears filled Katniss's eyes as she realized what had happened: 

She had failed. Peeta was dead.

“No, no, no…” A strange hiccup joined Katniss's blubbery words, and it took her a few seconds to realize they were coming from herself. “Peeta! Wake up!”

Then, the next thing she knew, she was pushed off of him. Katniss reached for her bow, but an arrow never found its target. This was because what she saw in front of her didn't make any sense.

Leaned over her district partner, the man from Four touched Peeta’s neck, his ribs, his chest, and then… Finnick was…  _ kissing _ Peeta?

Katniss didn't know what it meant, but she watched, shocked and confused, until Peeta gave a cough.

Relief filled her. She recognized what Finnick had done—he’d saved Peeta’s life—and remembered seeing her mother try this a few times back home. As Finnick sat back on his heels, Katniss, dropping her weapons to the dirt, lunged for Peeta.

“Peeta?”

He coughed again. His eyes slowly began to flutter open. They met Katniss’s.

“Careful,” he said weakly, “there’s a forcefield up ahead.”

Katniss laughed, but there were still tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof,” Peeta said. “I'm alright, though. Just a little shaken.” 

“You were dead! Your heart stopped!” Katniss burst out, unable to keep how terrified she had been at bay. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth, because the awful choking sounds that happened when she cried hard were beginning.

“Well, it seems to be working now,” Peeta told her. “It's okay, Katniss.” 

She nodded, but was still crying. 

“Katniss?” Now, Peeta was worried about her, which added to the confusion of it all. When the sounds didn’t stop he pulled her into a hug. She clung to him, glad he was alive, glad her worst outcome hadn’t come true.

And she had Finnick to thank.

“She’s fine, it’s just her hormones,” Finnick said, from where he sat back on his heels by the trees, “from the baby.”

Katniss pulled back and gave him a look, but said nothing more. Then she turned her attention back to Peeta. She pressed her palm against his chest. She was too happy to feel him, warm and alive beneath her touch, to care about Finnick’s remarks.

 

* * *

 

Before they made camp that night, they searched again for water. No such luck. Katniss hunted, and brought down what Finnick called a “tree rat,” which they ate with some nuts Mags had gathered during their hike around the arena after Peeta died. Katniss wondered why Haymitch hadn’t sent anything. Because they were working with Finnick and Mags, he was working with District Four mentors, which meant they would definitely have enough funds between the four highly-rated Victors. But she also knew he wouldn’t send something if she could find it herself—and anything he did send would have a weighty message.

So when a parachute came floating down once they were settled for the night, and they let Peeta claim it, Katniss knew this had something to do with their very apparent thirst.

But none of them knew what the item was. It was a hollow metal tube, tapered slightly at one end. On the other end a small lip curved downward.

The four of them took turns testing the object. Peeta blew into it, Finnick tried it on his pinkie, Katniss tried to place if it fell off of something, and Mags determined that it could not be fished with. Eventually they all gave up, realizing how late it was and how exhausted, hot, and uncomfortable they all were.

At least for Katniss, her headache from earlier had been replaced with one from crying instead of the incessant throb. She didn’t know if that was worse.

Finally settled, Katniss stared at the gift from above while Peeta rubbed a tense spot in her shoulders. Then she closed her eyes, wondering and imagining home, and her woods. A memory pulled at her, and suddenly she had an answer for what the object was:

“It’s a spile!”

“A what?” Finnick echoed.

“A spile,” Katniss explained, “Kind of like a faucet, you can use it to get sap out of trees.” She looked around. “Well, the right kind of trees.”

The realization dawned on them all at the same time.

The trees! That had to be where the water was!

Peeta drilled a hole with his knife, and Finnick pushed the spile into the bark. Finally, after agonizing seconds where nothing happened, a thin stream began to pour out.

Finnick punched his fist in the air in celebration before they all took turns drinking. While the water was warm, it was like heaven on Katniss’s parched tongue. And between how much she exerted herself today, between hiking and hunting and crying, it was relief.

After everyone got their fill, they all settled back down to sleep. Finnick took first watch. Katniss let him, wanting nothing more than to lay down beside Peeta and sleep forever.

But she was woken a few hours later to gongs sounding in the night.

“I counted twelve,” Finnick said after they were over.

“Do they mean anything, you think?” Katniss asked.

Finnick shrugged. They waited for further instruction, but received none from Claudius Templesmith. Lightning struck in the distance. Then Katniss told Finnick to go to bed, it was her turn to watch anyway.

 

* * *

 

The fog floated toward them like fingers reaching out to grasp. The sickeningly sweet scent of it made Katniss’s stomach roll as she watched it approach on the ground. But there was something off about it. When she got up to investigate, she ended up being right.

The fog  _ burned _ . Wherever the droplets of mist touched her skin, a searing pain hit. Then she started to blister.

“Run!” Katniss roused the others and shouted, “The fog’s some kind of poisonous gas!”

They did. It wasn’t until Peeta stumbled and Katniss stayed to right him that the spasms started, and she realized the fog targeted nerves. Luckily, Finnick and Mags were ahead, Finnick carrying the older woman, so they were okay. Somehow, by chance or a miracle, they all made it to a clearing near a strip of ocean relatively unscathed. They were all covered in blisters and spasming, but they were alive. The fog stopped once they entered the area.

They crawled to the water, and Mags figured out the water helped by drawing out whatever poison was in the fog. Katniss, at first, could only think of rubbing salt in the wound, from the pain the water elicited. But Mags was right. They were all able to move again after soaking.

Once her body calmed down, Katniss dragged herself back to the sand to sit with her head between her knees. She wanted nothing more than to curl up on her bed at home, let her mother take care of her, tell her why her stomach was flip flopping more than a fish. But that wasn’t an option anymore. She didn’t want to feel like the weak one here, but she couldn’t help how the nausea from earlier had returned full force and was promptly bothering her.

_ But why? _ She wondered.  _ What’s causing it? _

Mags came to sit beside her. She motioned to her stomach and her mouth again, and Katniss nodded.

“Yes, I feel sick,” she mumbled to the ground. She felt Mags set a comforting hand on her shoulder, and then a question came to mind. “Wait. Do you feel it too?” Maybe she wasn’t the only one here; maybe it was a side effect of the fog.

But Mags shook her head, and Katniss sighed.

When Finnick came over, asking about Mags, Katniss couldn’t take it anymore. The sight of his blisters was what did it—she was up and retching by one of the trees in seconds, Peeta coming to her side to hold her hair and rub her back.

After, she felt shaky and her mouth felt gross, and Peeta dug the spile into a tree so she could rinse her mouth and so everyone could get a drink.

“You’re not okay,” Peeta said to her while she drank from a leaf, “Are you?”

“Neither are you,” Katniss said back, “You died today.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Katniss didn’t want to discuss this right now. She didn’t know what to say, how to explain what she was feeling. Peeta was just concerned, she knew, but it was for the same reasons she was for him: They both intended on the other making it out alive. But Katniss didn’t want to talk about that, either. Not after the day they’d both had.

So she didn’t. Katniss finished her drink, then filled the leaf back up and offered it to Mags, who took it gratefully.

Then she picked up her bow and stalked near the treeline, intending to climb one and inspect the arena once more like she had the day before. But what she saw stopped her.

It was the next horror Plutarch had planned for them—a group of monkeys staring devilishly down at her, teeth bared, claws big and sharp.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Gamemaker's point of view! Hmm, wonder what will come of that...

_This isn't good_ , Plutarch Heavensbee thought as he paced the edge of the Gamemaker Control Center, his hands clasped behind his back and his mind a million miles away from the arena. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as the ten o’clock wave crested over the holographic Cornucopia set in the middle of the room.

It was morning, finally, but that didn't mean the trouble was over. Not for him, or for his allies working with District Thirteen. They still had two days of the arena to get through. And the Gamemaker was finding he’d done his job this year almost too well. He was struggling to take pride in it.

Since her near-fainting yesterday, Katniss Everdeen and her alliance had gone up against the forcefield, Peeta Mellark had nearly died, and they'd encountered the deadly fog as well as the monkeys. The latter fight had ended unexpectedly. Had it not been for the Morphling from Six, someone from his side might have gotten severely injured. And Plutarch couldn't afford one of his Victors dying—not when he needed them alive for the rebellion’s sake.

Plutarch made a mental note to file down the nails on any other mutts that should crop up, and pay a visit to District Six’s mentor. Then he turned his attention to the feeds.

Districts Seven and Three—home to Johanna Mason, Blight Eldertree, Beetee Latier, and Wiress Jacobsen—were nearing the blood rain sector. _That wouldn't be fun._ Meanwhile, Districts One and Two were across the map, in one of three randomized areas. There was no telling what they'd encounter there—huge insect mutts and trapping vines were two of the options Plutarch remembered. But he didn't really care what happened to the Careers, anyway; they'd made it clear where their loyalties lay.

It wasn't with the rebel side.

Continuing to pace, Plutarch moved his eyes to Districts Twelve and Four, where Katniss, Finnick and Mags were rubbing some lotion on their blisters. Finnick was making Katniss laugh, and suggesting they startle Peeta. Plutarch chuckled to himself before a chime from his pocket had his attention shifting again. He reached into his coat to pull out his watch, and, rubbing his thumb across the face of it, looked at the countdown that appeared once the Mockingjay faded from view.

_60 HRS, 48 MINS, 51 SECS UNTIL DEPARTURE._

Plutarch had that long to put the rest of his plans in place, all while juggling his duties as Gamemaker.

He could last that long, right?

As the whoops of Katniss and Finnick’s laughter filled the room, along with Peeta’s startled yell, Plutarch hoped so. He just had to keep up the act--he was Plutarch Heavensbee, Head Gamemaker. Plutarch Heavensbee, fellow Capitol strategist, fit to put an end to revolution. There was no alternative, not in this room, not while the Games went on.

Right?

“Sir.”

Plutarch turned at the voice he heard behind him. A young male attendant in a suit with a Capitol seal on the breast pocket stood in the doorway. Plutarch replaced his watch in his coat.

“Yes?”

“The President is requesting your presence,” the attendant said.

Plutarch swallowed. _This isn't good_ , he thought again. But he kept his cool. He cleared his throat. “Now?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He was Plutarch Heavensbee, at the beck and call to President Snow. Fellow Capitol strategist. Head Gamemaker.

There was no alternative.

The rebellion couldn't afford it.

Plutarch quietly excused himself from the room and followed the attendant down the hall.

 

* * *

  

Plutarch held his breath as the doors to the president's viewing quarters opened with a _whoosh_. He exhaled when President Snow spoke.

“Impressive,” he mused, “isn't it? How these are to be seen as the most unpopular Games yet, but the audience continues to cheer?”

On the screen he watched the Capitol Square, alive with energy and pulsing with excitement, its people caught in rapt attention towards the happenings in the arena. People screamed, clapped and bounced; their capes and hats and dramatically made up faces were all that Plutarch could see. The sheer amount of color and Capitol control overwhelmed him and he was quick to dash the feeling from his gut, this nervousness and fear.

The Gamemaker tried to calm his nerves and slip into the confident persona he used around Coriolanus Snow. “Yes, it is,” he said. But he didn’t think the president’s actions were impressive at all.

He thought it was disgusting how Snow watched his citizens in the streets—as well as in their homes. Plutarch had known this fact from an earlier conversation they'd had concerning the movements of several of the Victors, of which only a button press separated them from seeing directly into their lives. And if there weren’t eyes, there were definitely ears in all of the Victor’s Village homes. Why, it was just last week that they had used the surveillance devices to “check in" on Annie Cresta.

Plutarch remembered the sounds of her beautiful, if a bit mad, singing well.

 _Such an abuse of power_ , Plutarch thought as the white haired man’s beady eyes drew away from the screen, back to him. _This is why we need a revolution._

“You’ve done your job well so far, Heavensbee,” President Snow said.

“Thank you, Sir,” Plutarch replied stiffly.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Snow suggested, and Plutarch did, before the president continued, “I think ratings are the best they've ever been, between your inspiring arena ideas and the draw of seeing the Girl on Fire’s spark… flickering.”

 _Flickering_ … What did that _—Oh_.

He was talking about Katniss Everdeen.

“Mommy in the arena has definitely raised another level of interest,” Snow explained. “And I have to admit, she’s putting on quite the show.”

“Hasn’t she always?” Plutarch asked.

Snow laughed, and it was a low, amused sound. “That, my dear friend, is what she’d want you to believe.” He reached for the remote on the table and pressed a button. The arena appeared on the screen. “But I think I’ve seen enough. The show is almost over.”

A shiver went down Plutarch’s spine. His mind raced with possibilities at what the president’s words meant. He wasn’t made, was he? Had his cover been blown?

 _No, no,_ he thought to himself, _This is all part of the plan, remember? You’ve known Snow for years. It’s why you got the Gamemaker position in the first place. If you’d been made, his words would be much more deliberate, aimed directly at you… And you might already be dead, anyway._

 _Everything is fine,_ he tried to convince himself.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because,” President Snow pressed another button, “I think it’s time we called our darling Star- Crossed Lovers’ bluff.”

Plutarch leaned forward in his chair to watch the footage Snow was showing. When he saw what the other man had meant for him to see, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His heart began to hammer in his chest.

_Oh, no._

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Snow asked.

Plutarch nodded; it was very impressive, indeed. He had to give Panem’s leader some credit. It was an unprecedented twist, done late in the game. It shocked Plutarch. And it scared him, too.

Because now, he had no idea how he was going to think his way out of this one—how, barring a stroke of genius on his or someone else’s part, they were going to spin this one so the odds landed in their favor.

And, whatever the outcome, this could not be undone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm both sorry and not sorry for that cliffhanger, but, well... Oops?
> 
> This will probably be the last update for a little bit, as school is starting and I've got to get used to that schedule again. But, not to fear, this fic won't be abandoned! Life just may be a little crazy.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta, @booksrockmyface on Tumblr (Hpfanonezliion on AO3), as well as @mega-aulover and @alliswell21.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! And, because this fic was inspired by you guys, if there's anything you want to see, tell me down below! (Like Mags surviving!) I don't really have an outline, so whatever you say might just make it in!


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